


A Palmer Family Scrapbook

by punkrockgaia



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: CPS, Child Protective Services, F/M, Foster Care, Gen, M/M, Palmer family dynamics, angry families, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrockgaia/pseuds/punkrockgaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Happy families are all alike. Each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." -- Leo Tolstoy</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sprouts

Late Fall, 1974

Muriel narrowed her eyes and refilled her martini glass from the iced pitcher on the table. Cocktail hour had come early that day. She considered throwing an olive at the back of the newspaper seated across the table from her when a voice issued from behind it.

"Harrumph! Bloody Vansten Industries can go to blazes."

"Eustace! Language!"

The newspaper folded down abruptly, exposing the florid, mustachioed face of her husband, puffing furiously on a meerschaum pipe. 

"Woman, I will talk how I please in my own home." He cleared his throat noisily and disappeared once again behind the business section.

The room remained silent, but for the "blip" of a centipede falling off the ceiling and into Muriel's glass. She made a disgusted gesture and fished it out, then glanced around, and, seeing she was unobserved, popped it into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed daintily, then dabbed at her lips with a linen napkin. A little extra protein was good for the waistline, she'd heard.

Soon, the edge of the newspaper began to smolder, and her husband once again appeared, patting at the minor inferno with a look of high dudgeon. 

"Where's the damn girl?"

"Who, Cassandra?"

"Pfft, why in blazes would I be looking for her? No, the girl." He began to pound his fist on the tabletop, sending the tableware jittering as he did. "The." _pound_ "Girl." _pound_ "With." _pound_ "The." _pound_ "Tea."

"The girl with the tea? Oh, don't make me laugh. Oh, that's rich. We fired her six months ago. Well, not fired, really, she quit because WE COULDN'T AFFORD TO PAY HER, YOU SENILE OLD COOT!"

"That's none of my affair. Mother managed the household perfectly well..."

"Yes, managed with twice the money! Oh, when I think of what I've given up for you. I should have never let you take me from my little home."

"And I should have never married a common strumpet like yourself! I brought myself low when I married you..."

"You needn't have bothered! When I stop to think that I could have married Emil Peters. You know, the farmer? I hear that his family is buying up the whole valley for the imaginary corn crop they have coming in!"

"Ohhh, and you would have made a _fine_ farm wife, wouldn't you? I can just see you now, in the barnyard, taking care of a sick pig!"

"Well, why not? I've nursed your gout often enough!" Muriel was about to continue when they heard the light, arrhythmic steps of their only child approach, singing Marlena Dietrich in a melancholy tune. 

Cassandra, the child of their old age, the child they'd never anticipated nor striven for. The child borne out of an exceptional night of passion following a fiery argument involving the flinging of quite a quantity of mince pie. She was twenty-two.

She was, by many accounts, a very attractive girl. Her eyes were wide and luminous, and her hair was a rare platinum hue that flowed from her head in lazy waves to her waist. She was clad only in a stained bedsheet that barely covered her embarrassment. 

She had spinach between her teeth. They hadn't eaten spinach for a week and a half. There was deep black grime underneath her fingernails, and a lighter line of grime in the creases of her wrist and elbows.

She danced into the kitchen, feet beating to a rhythm no one else could hear. She swirled and whirled to the elderly refrigerator, pulled the handle to unlock it, and grabbed out a chicken drumstick. She brought it to her mouth and started to consume it with a series of animal grunts and groans that made her parents shift uncomfortably in their seats.

Her mother was the first to speak. "Cassie, dear. You must watch your figure. You're not as young as you were, and you're getting a positive pot belly."

Uncharacteristically, Cassie responded. She whirled toward her mother, gesturing wildly with the drumstick, pieces of meat flying around the kitchen. 

"Soil." _whoosh_. "A seed." _whoosh_ "A SPROUT."  
 _whoosh_ "Gleditsia triacanthos."

Muriel took a fortifying drink of her martini, then smiled at her daughter. "Yes, dear, eat more sprouts. That's a good idea."

Cassie giggled wildly, then stuck the drumstick back in her mouth and ran into the house. 

******  
Six months later, Cassie stole her father's Packard and returned home a day and a half later with a little nut-brown baby with her platinum hair and a pair of deep, unknowable eyes. He fit into the household as he might have. He cried, and his mother flitted and comforted as she could. His grandmother hovered nervously and cried about what the other ladies would say. His grandfather told them not to spoil him. They settled into a routine.

******

Early Summer, 1978

Simon was sitting on the floor playing at putting a chunk of linoleum tile into a cast iron pot. Muriel poured a Manhattan into her glass. Cocktail hour had come early that day.

The newspaper across the table shook. "Blast and damn that Vansten!"

Muriel threw back her drink and poured another, then grabbed the folded point of the paper, pulling it toward her. Her husband's face was grey and ill behind the newsprint.

"What? What about Vansten?"

"He's ruining this damn town, you know!"

"You're a bitter old man! If your father had only sold Palmer Buggy Whips to Cornelius Vansten when he could have, well, we would have been sitting pretty, right?"

Eustace grunted. "Oh, and let him run the company into the ground, hmmm?"

"LIKE THERE'S A COMPANY NOW!"

Eustace threw his paper on the floor. "Where the hell's the girl?"

"Cassandra?"

"Who is Cassandra? Where's the girl with the tea?"

"You fired her last week!" Muriel brushed a rat off of the table as her one girl child, a gorgeous, luminous twenty-five, danced through the door wearing a pair of gauze curtains, though perhaps not as bathed as she could have been.

She hummed happily and swept up the child on the floor, who had little chunks of paint and flooring clinging to his lips. She kissed the child on the top of his head, then twirled in a circle, holding him at arm's length, then sat him unceremoniously, if carefully, on the floor.

She took a deep breath, then raised her hands above her head. Her left breast popped out of its diaphanous sheath as she did. She brought her hands back to her hips. 

"Two sprouts," she declaimed, beaming. "Two sprouts in the same garden." She crouched and kissed the little boy on the floor. "Gleditsia triacanthos." She stood tall and touched her belly. "Datura stramonium." She ruffled the hair of the boy again, and skipped out of the room.

Eustace groaned and brought his beefy hand to his brow. He breathed a deep, resigned breath, then fixed his wife with a glare.

"She's knocked up again, isn't she?"

Muriel only could nod, down her drink, and sob into her handkerchief.


	2. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil is sick and Simon is a good brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simon is about seven and Cecil is about three and a half here.

Summer, 1981

Simon opened his eyes carefully. It was still nighttime. Something woke him up, but what? He held his breath, his fingers curling around the grip of the "Li'l Mercenary Junior Parang" that he'd gotten for his birthday, just in case. 

Nothing. 

He had started to fall back asleep when he heard it again. A whimper, coming from the general direction of the floor. He started to dissolve in relief. A whimper probably didn't mean anything that would try to kill him. Now that he thought about it, it was probably Cecil.

He sat up groggily, climbed down off his bed, and padded over to his brother's blanket nest in the corner. He nudged at it with his toe.

"Cecil. Hey, Cecil, wake up. You're having a nightmare."

No answer.

He crouched over the pile of blankets and poked the lump in the middle. "Hey, Dumb-butt, get up." Still no answer. That was weird. He felt an icy wave of fear wash over him.

He hesitated a moment. Cecil didn't react well to having his nest disturbed, and he really didn't want to deal with a meltdown in the middle of the night. Still and all, he had to wake him up somehow, didn't he?

He gritted his teeth and gingerly began to peel back the strata of fabric, taking care not to mess them up any more than he had to. He got through about five layers before he got to his little brother.

Oh. Oh, this was not good. This was very, very bad.

Cecil was laying on his back, rigid. His eyes were wide open. It was hard to tell, what with him having no irises or pupils, but Simon would have bet anything that they were rolled up in his head, too. He was making little sounds through clenched teeth. It was kinda gross.

Simon shook his shoulder, hard, and noticed that he was burning up. "Cecil, get up! Get up!" He might as well have been shaking the bedpost for all the response he got. Oh, criminy. 

He jumped to his feet and ran down the hallway to his grandparents' room, tripping over the cat as he did. He flung open the door and bolted inside.

"Grandmother! Grandfather! Wake up! There's something wrong with Cecil!"

His grandfather sat up in his bed. He peered at him for a moment.

"Muriel! Wake up!"

_Oh, thank Gods,_ thought Simon, his legs suddenly wobbly.

"Muriel!" the old man thundered again. "A child has gotten into the room! Send it away!" His grandmother mumbled something in her sleep, and his grandfather glared at her. 

"B-but Grandfather, please!" Simon felt tears begin to stream down his face. 

"Blast it, I have to do everything around here. Go away!" Simon ducked as a heavy book whizzed past his head. Self-preservation kicked in, and he turned and ran out the door, hearing his grandfather mutter "vermin" as he did. He didn't know what that meant, but he figured it probably didn't mean anything good. 

Simon cursed himself as he slumped against the wall. He should have known better than to go in there, he knew it was forbidden. And why had he expected them to help, anyway? He needed to find Mother. Of course, that was easier said than done. He put his head in his hands.

Suddenly he felt his skin form into goosebumps and the hair on his arms stand on end. He looked up. His mother loomed over him, clad in a kimono, elaborate nightmare kabuki makeup smeared over her face.

He'd never been happier to see someone in his life.

"Mother!"

"Tender sapling," she murmured.

Simon was on his feet and pulling her down the hallway in a flash, babbling hysterically the whole time. "Mothermothermothercomequickthere'ssomethingwrongwithCecilhe'sreallysickandI'mscaredhe'sgonnadie." She glided along behind him.

Cecil was still lying there, just as Simon had left him. Simon fell to his knees next to the nest.

"See, Mother? He was making noises and I went over to see what was wrong, and he wouldn't wake up!" His mother stared through him, expressionless, and a horrifying thought occurred to him. "I swear I didn't do anything to him! He was like that when I found him!"

She bent over and pressed a hand to Cecil's flushed cheek. "Blossom, little sprout. Blossom or die." She pressed her lips to his forehead and straightened, then smiled serenely and slipped from the room.

Simon watched her go, momentarily dumbfounded, then took off after her. The hallway was empty. He looked around wildly.

"Isn't anyone going to DO ANYTHING?" His voice sounded hoarse and crazy as it echoed back to his ears. There was no reply. He groaned and stomped his little feet on the moth-eaten hall rug, then took a deep breath and nodded. He needed to get ahold of himself. If nobody else was going to take care of Cecil, it would have to be up to him. 

He thought for a moment. 

Could he call an ambulance? No, the phone was broken.

What about taking him to Josie's? No, Cecil wasn't very big, but he certainly couldn't carry him across town. He briefly considered trying to drive the car, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to push the pedals and steer at the same time.

No, whatever he was going to do to help, it was going to have to be right there in the house. He thought some more. When his grandmother had one of her headaches, she usually took some aspirin and went to bed with a cool cloth on her forehead. He didn't know where the aspirin was, but he could do the cloth thing. Maybe that would help Cecil.

He went into the bathroom and grabbed his washcloth, then stood on his tiptoes to wet it under a stream of cold water. He went back to his room and carefully placed it on Cecil's head, then climbed into the unpleasantly-damp nest next to him. He hoped it was damp from sweat, but the faint smell of pee in the air told him otherwise. If Cecil didn't die, he might just have to punch him.

He held his brother's trembling form tight, stroking his white-blond hair. "There, there," he whispered. "There, there." He didn't know what that was supposed to mean, exactly, but he'd seen a mother say that in a movie once. He rocked him back and forth, gently, and hoped as hard as he'd ever hoped that he'd be okay.

He tried to stay awake to take care of Cecil, really he did. But he was very young and very tired, and after a while he fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep. When he woke, the relentless light of the desert sun had already began to pour through the window. He opened his eyes carefully, half-expecting to come face-to-face with a dead boy.

Simon almost cried from relief. Cecil was curled up into his side, breathing softly, sleeping. The washcloth still lay across his forehead. He was still uncomfortably warm, but it wasn't the awful, scary heat of the night before. Simon patted him on the head. 

Then he felt that familiar skin-crawling sensation and heard the soft whoosh of satin behind him. His mother's face appeared above him, smiling beatifically. She placed a hand on Cecil's cheek. 

"Alive." She sounded pleased. She lifted the corner of the washcloth and peeked underneath. She turned to Simon. "Look," she whispered, then removed the cloth from Cecil's brow.

A third eye, as blank and ice-white as the other two, stared out from his forehead. "Look," she repeated. "The forms appear on the wall of the cave." Cecil wrinkled up his nose at the sudden intrusion of light and opened his two original eyes. He cocked his head to the side as if he were confused, then giggled.

"Mama?"

Cassandra nodded, then pointed to Simon. "Gentle acacia." 

"Simon!" Cecil yelped and threw his arms around them both, wiggling with delight. 

Simon hugged him back. He wasn't sure what the big deal was. Well, other than the fact that Cecil seemed to have grown a new eyeball. That was kinda weird. But other than that, everything seemed to be... okay. That was weird too, but a good kind of weird.

Cassandra made some space for herself and settled down between them, Cecil and Simon leaned into her sides, and for a moment, they were the happiest little family in Night Vale.


	3. Cecil and the Big Sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil and Simon have a visit with a nice Man and Lady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that in the real world, the whole CPS process would take longer, but this is Night Vale, and more particularly my Night Vale, so, yeah...

**February, 1984**  
"Can I sit on your lap, Simon?"

"No! You're five years old now. You have to act like a big boy."

Cecil frowned and looked down at the broken comb he'd been using to idly draw lines in the dust of the kitchen table. It was so hard being a big boy. "Where's Mama?"

"Told you, I don't know."

"I'm hungry."

"Me too."

"Can we have Count Chocula?"

"We don't have any cereal."

"Oh. Ding-Dongs?"

"We don't have any of those, either."

"Oh. Flaky-Os?"

"That's still cereal, Cecil. We don't have any cereal. We don't have any anything. Nothing. No cereal, no milk, no Ding-Dongs. And before you ask again, no Mom. She's gone, and maybe she's not coming back. Got it, Dumb-Dumb?" His voice was sharp and mean.

Cecil felt his lower lip start to quiver. He was trying so hard to be a brave boy and not a cry-baby, but he hated it when Simon yelled at him. He heard a soft thump as Simon jumped down from the countertop where he'd been sitting, then felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, don't cry." His voice was softer. "Tell ya what. You stay here and be good and don't get into any trouble, and I'll be back in a little while with lunch, okay?"

"What about Mama? She's really not coming back?"

"Oh, uh... No, she'll come back. I promise. I was just jokin' with ya."

"Oh. That's a funny joke." He didn't understand it, but he giggled anyway.

"So you be good, all right? I'll be back in a little while. Don't let anyone in."

"Okay, Simon, I'll be good." Simon ruffled his hair as he left the kitchen, and Cecil beamed. A few moments later, the front door slammed, and he was left alone. 

He peered around the kitchen. It was dark and cobwebby and something scuttled around inside the wall in front of him. He concentrated and tried to push with his thoughts. It took a little while (Mama was teaching him, but he still wasn't very strong), but then everything got clear, and he could see inside the walls, see what was making the noise. Oh, just a big rat. _So boring._

He yawned and his eyelids started to get heavy. The house had been full of strange bumpings and screechings the night before, and it had kept him awake. It was time for a nap. He got down from the kitchen chair, picked his way around the debris and plaster on the floor, and climbed up the stairs to his room. 

His blanket nest lay in one corner. Before he climbed inside, he took a moment to admire his handiwork. He was pleased. Out of all the nests he'd built, this was his best one. _Best nest,_ he thought, and giggled. They'd just learned about rhymes in school.

He cocked his head to one side. What was today? Was he missing school? He hoped not. He liked kindergarten. There was snack time and he could play cowboy or house with his best friend, Earl. (Or his favorite game, Cowboy House. That was about two cowboys who were married and had adventures.) He'd have to ask Simon about school when he got back. He'd know. He was very smart.

He turned down the first few layers of covers until he got to the right spot, then sat down tailor-style in the middle of the cuddly pile. He unhooked his new glasses from behind his ears, then tucked them away in a pocket of the blankets. (They were very expensive, so he had to take very good care of them!) Once that was settled, he lay down and pulled the blankets up until he was completely covered, even his head. Then he wiggled around until everything was just right. The pillows on either side of him felt just like a big hug!

He sighed with happiness. He scrunched his eyes closed and made a wish. He wished that Grandma and Grandpa would come back, so that Mama could stop being sad and going away. Then he wished for a puppy. Then he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

The first thing he heard when he woke up were heavy footsteps and his brother's voice, shaky and scared. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't send me to jail!"

"Simon, Simon, I told you, no one is sending a little boy to jail. Just calm down." Oh! Cecil knew that voice. It was Miss Josie. He liked Miss Josie. But she didn't walk big and heavy and clompy and neither did Simon. Who was that?

"Ms. Santiago, please don't speak for the Sheriff. There may still be a sentence somewhere down the line." A loud man's voice. Cecil shivered and curled deeper into the blankets. 

"Cram it, Norman. He's not a criminal, he's a child, and he was just doing what he felt he needed to do. No one is going to punish him in any way, not over my dead body." Her voice got quiet and sad. "I had no idea things had gotten so bad. If I'd known..."

Cecil frowned. He was sad that Miss Josie was sad. 

Miss Josie spoke again. "Where's your brother, Simon?"

"I -- I dunno. He's probably in our room, I guess." He didn't sound like himself at all. He didn't sound brave. Simon always sounded brave. Everything was so weird and scary. He hoped they didn't find him. He held his breath.

A minute later, the footsteps came into the room and stopped next to his nest. He heard Simon.

"He's in there."

 _Noooo, Simon! Don't tell!_ He tried to make himself small and invisible as the covers were lifted off of him. He looked up, and a fuzzy lump with Miss Josie's voice spoke to him.

"Cecil? Wake up, honey. You and Simon are going on a little trip across town."

Cecil quickly closed his eyes and made-believe that he was still asleep and couldn't hear her.

"Cecil?" Miss Josie shook his shoulder gently. "Cecil, stop playing around. I know you're awake, dear."

Cecil pretended to snore.

"Cecil!" Miss Josie sounded like his teacher when the kids were being bad. Cecil's eyes snapped open and he sat up. "That's better."

A big black-and-grey blur next to Miss Josie spoke in a booming voice. "How are you today, young citizen?" Cecil jumped and squeaked.

"It's okay, Ceese," said Simon. "Don't be scared. I'm here." _He_ still sounded scared, though.

"We -- we're going on a trip?" Cecil asked, looking from the Josie-blur to the Simon-blur.

The Josie-blur squatted closer to Cecil. "Yes!" Her voice was cheerful, but fakey. "Simon tried to... borrow some food for you and him at the Ralphs, but we thought a better idea might be for you to go over and have dinner and spend some time with a nice family who would very much like to meet you. Would that be okay?"

"They're nice?"

" _Very_ nice."

Cecil considered. What was big deal? They had dinner over at Josie's house all the time, and sometimes at Sammy's Sliceria, and one time he'd even eaten over at Earl's. (They had green Jello with little marshmallows in it.) "Okay."

Miss Josie threw her arms around him and squeezed. Oh, hugs were so nice. He was glad he'd made her happy. He hoped she'd hug him again. 

Instead, she took his hand and helped him stand up. The big black-and-grey blur reached for him, and he shouted and hid behind Josie's hand. 

"Why so scared, little citizen?"

"Oh. Cecil, put your glasses on," said the Simon-blur. Oh, his glasses! Thank goodness Simon had remembered. It would have been _so bad_ if they'd gotten lost. He reached down into his blanket nest and pulled them out, then put them on. He looked around and started to giggle. The scary blur had been a Sheriff's Deputy, in his cape and his black mask, all along! Silly Cecil, there was nothing to be afraid of! He reached out his arms and the Deputy picked him up.

The four of them walked quickly and quietly down the hall, down the stairs, and out the front door. Miss Josie and the Deputy kept looking around like they were nervous about something, but Cecil couldn't figure out why. It was just his normal boring house, with no Count Chocula or green Jello with little marshmallows in it. Boring. 

What wasn't boring was that they were going to get to ride in a real-live Sheriff's Secret Police car! Cecil started to squeal with excitement and bounce up and down in the seat as the Deputy buckled him in. Simon looked over at him, but instead of telling him to shut up and quit being a baby, he actually smiled! Cecil had gotten _two_ hugs (he was counting the Deputy picking him up), he was getting to ride in a police car, and Simon was smiling at him! It was the best day ever!

And then it got **better**. Cecil looked through the window of the police car and saw a flicker of a face in the attic window of the house.

"Mama!" he gasped. 

Miss Josie's face got pale and there were lines on her forehead. She smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. It was tight, like her face hurt. 

"Norman," she said to the Deputy in a quiet voice, "why don't you go on ahead without me? I'll talk to Cassandra. You take the boys. Now."

"Yes, Ma'am," said the Deputy. Miss Josie got out of the car and started back up the walk. The Deputy put the car into reverse and backed out of the driveway, then turned the car and started down the street. He could drive very fast!

Cecil was confused. Why couldn't Mama come with them? Then he looked around the backseat. Oh. It probably would have been too crowded if they'd all gotten into the car together. Miss Josie was probably going to give her a ride after they had a nice visit.

Cecil turned his attention back to watching the world unfold outside the car window. They passed by so many interesting things! They drove past Grove Park, past Sammy's, past the radio station. They drove past the Ralphs, and Simon sunk down in his seat like he was trying to hide. They stopped at a stop sign outside the Elementary School. Oh, no! There were kids in the playground!

"Simon, Simon!" Cecil hollered. He probably wasn't supposed to holler in the police car, but this was an emergency.

"What?!?"

"We missed school today! Oh, no!"

"Don't worry about it."

"But... But..."

The Deputy cleared his throat. "It's okay, little citizen. Today's a special day for you. It's not every day you get a new family."

Cecil made a face. New family? That didn't make any sense. Oh, well, they told him in school to never argue with the Secret Police, so he didn't say anything. The Deputy continued on.

"You'll like the Cuthberts. They've only been in town for a little while, but they've been waiting to meet some boys like you for years, I hear."

Cecil sat up in his seat, proudly. Imagine that! People coming in from out of town just to meet him and Simon. They _were_ exceptionally good boys, he supposed. Wait until Mama heard! She'd be so proud.

The car pulled up in front of a little white house that was low to the ground. In the front yard there was a cactus, a wooden fence, and a wagon wheel. Cecil gasped. Maybe it would be like Cowboy House! 

But no. The people that came out to the car to meet them weren't cowboys, they were just normal-looking. There was a man with short, curly, dark hair and kind eyes, and a lady with light-brown wavy hair and a blue sweater and pink nail polish. He tried not to be too disappointed. It wasn't their fault they weren't cowboys. 

The Lady opened the car door and knelt down and squeezed him without even taking him out of the car! That made _three hugs_.

"You must be Cecil and Simon," said the Lady. "We're so happy to have you here with us! Do you have some bags to take into the house?"

"We, uh..." The Deputy coughed. "We... extracted the children without much notice. We thought it would be best. Not that there'll be any... trouble... of course. We just didn't want a scene."

Cecil heard the adults talking but wasn't paying much attention. His focus was drawn by a big, happy golden retriever that was trying to jump into the car with him.

"Buster, sit down!" the Lady said to the dog. Cecil reached out tentatively to pet him. 

"Don't be afraid, little guy," said the Man. "He doesn't have a mean bone in his body." Cecil patted the dog and the dog wagged his tail. The Man crouched down to talk to Simon through the open window. "And how are you, Sport?"

"Fine, Sir!" Simon grinned. 

"Put 'er there!" He stuck his hand through the car window and shook Simon's hand. "Well!" The Man stood up. "I don't know about you kids, but I could eat a horse! What do you say we go in and have dinner? There's ice cream for dessert!"

"Oh, boy!" yelled Cecil, as he climbed out of the car.

"Hey, he _does_ talk," said the Man, and everybody laughed. Cecil didn't hear, though, because he was already opening the door to the house.

Dinner was yummy and good, even though it wasn't Count Chocula or Flaky-Os. It was like some sort of soft meat and noodles and cheese, and there was bread and peas. Cecil ate until his tummy hurt, then ate avocado ice cream until his tummy hurt again. As the plates were cleared, he felt bad. What was Mama eating? Miss Josie hadn't brought her over. Wasn't she hungry? He was a bad boy.

He kicked his feet. The nice dog came up and licked his fingers. He bent over and touched his head to the dog's. It was warm.

The Man and the Lady were talking to Simon, and to him, he guessed.

"So, what do you guys want to do now?" said the Man.

"Oh, Sir, we're not fussy," said Simon.

"Please, stop calling me Sir. You can call me Ivan or whatever you want, but I hope someday you'll call me Dad."

Cecil brought his head back up over the top of the table. Dad? What? Was he going to marry Mama? Well, that would make the lady with the blue sweater sad, for sure. She was nice, and that was bad. It was time to go before this got any crazier.

He coughed. That was something grownups did when they wanted attention. It worked! Everyone looked at him.

"Uhh..." His voice sounded creaky and weird to his own ears. "Uh, well, thank you, Man and Lady, for dinner." The Man and Lady looked at each other and smiled. Weird. "Uh, so, thank you, but I want to go home now please."

Everybody was quiet, then the Lady spoke. 

"Cecil, you're going to be staying here for a while. Maybe a long, long time. Is that okay?"

"Yes!" Cecil liked sleepovers. He'd slept over at Earl's house that time he'd eaten dinner there, and it was fun! Maybe he and Simon and Mama and the Man and the Lady could all tell ghost stories later. He knew a good one about a ghost with no butt.

The Man and Lady smiled at each other and held hands. Grownups were so weird. 

That evening, they played some silly board games and watched a cartoon on television about Snoopy and had popcorn. The Man and the Lady took a lot of pictures of them with their Polaroid camera. Cecil had fun, but he kept looking toward the door, wondering when Miss Josie would bring Mama over. Those ladies must have had a lot to talk about! 

After a little while, the Man and the Lady said that it was time for Simon and Cecil to go to bed. That was a little weird -- Mama never told them when to go to bed; they went when they felt sleepy. Oh, well, different people had different traditions, he supposed. 

They led them down a short hallway to a little bedroom in the back. It had wallpaper with sports balls on it, and a funny sort of a bed on two levels with a ladder connecting them. The carpet was blue, and there was a little nightstand and a lamp with more sports balls on it. The Lady stood in the room and looked like she was thinking.

"I'm sorry, we don't have any pajamas or toothbrushes for you boys. We weren't planning on you getting here so soon! We can go out shopping tomorrow, though. I guess you can go without brushing for one night, but what can we get you to sleep in?" She thought again. "Hmmm. Let me go take a look. Maybe Ivan has some t-shirts that you can wear. Oh, you'll be so cute!" She pinched Simon and Cecil on the cheeks and bustled out of the room.

"She's weird," Cecil whispered as soon as he heard her steps retreat across the hall.

"Don't mess this up for us, Cecil, or I swear to the Gods I'll mess _you_ up." Simon shook his fist and scowled, then climbed up to the top bed and started to flip through a comic book the Man and Lady had given him.

Cecil stuck his tongue out at Simon and looked around. He didn't want to take the bedding off of the bed, Mama would need that when she finally got there. But there had to be something he could use. He heard the doorbell ring. Oh, that was probably Mama right there. 

There was a closet in the room, with sliding doors. He slid it open and smiled. It was full of coats and old clothes and stuff. He really preferred to use blankets and quilts to build a nest, but there would be more time in the morning to find supplies. 

He pulled all the stuff he could reach off of the hangers and started to arrange it on the floor. Icky. A lot of the fabric was scratchy. He'd definitely be rebuilding as soon as he could. He formed it into a shape that was more or less okay, not one of his best, but okay. Just as he started to climb inside, Buster the Dog padded into the room. Cecil gave a little squeak of delight, then patted the nest. Buster climbed in, tail wagging, and Cecil climbed in after him. He hugged the dog, then covered them both up. 

He'd just started to fall asleep, nose buried in warm dog fur, when he heard the Lady come back to the room. 

"I'm sorry that took so long, boys, the Sheriff had some papers for us to sign -- OH, NO, MY GRANDMOTHER'S LACE TABLECLOTH!" 

_That's a weird thing to say,_ thought Cecil. 

Next, he heard the Man's voice. 

"Krissy? What's wrong? What's the commo-- What's this, then?"

"That's Cecil's nest. He builds them and sleeps in them. He's done it since he was a baby." Simon's voice, from up high, near the ceiling. 

"Oh, Ivan, and your good overcoat, too..." The Lady, again. Cecil shifted around, uncomfortable with the way things were heading, and Buster sneezed. "And the dog's in there, too? We'll have to take it all to the dry cleaners..." 

"It's okay, Babe, we'll just get him out of there and into bed and we'll deal with it in the morning." 

"No, wait, not like that, let me --" Simon interrupted, but it was too late. Big hands were reaching into the nest and grabbing Cecil and lifting him out. Cecil hated it when people disturbed his nest without being nice about it. He hated it _so much._

Cecil began to thrash around and kick his feet, yelling, but the Man just held him at arm's length. Cecil tried to bite him, but couldn't get close enough.

"Damnit, Cecil, calm down!" shouted Simon.

"Language!" the Lady yelled, pointing at Simon.

"Everybody be quiet for a minute," barked the Man. Everybody, including Cecil, was quiet for a minute. The Man lifted Cecil up until they were eye to eye. "Listen here, Little Man. I don't know what kind of bad habits you got into, but in this house, we sleep in beds. And I took a whole day off of work to put those beds together, so I would appreciate it if you would get it together and lay down in it like a civilized human being."

Cecil stared. He didn't like the Man much, he decided. He also wasn't very smart, apparently. "Then," he asked, talking very slowly, "where will Mama sleep?"

Everyone was very still. Then Simon groaned. 

"Oh, fuck, you are so stupid, Cecil." Cecil gasped. That was a very bad word. "Don't you understand? Mother's not coming. Ever. These folks are our parents now. We're never going to see Mother again."

What?

**WHAT?**

Cecil opened and closed his mouth, but he couldn't get enough air to talk, for some reason. The Man slowly took him over to the bed and put him down, then sat next to him. The Lady sat on the other side, and they both put their arms around him. 

Cecil pushed at both of them and began to wail. They held him closer and the wail turned into a scream.

The lightbulb above them exploded, and the Man and Lady jumped. Cecil kept screaming.

"Aaahahahhahahhaaaaaaa I WANT MY MOMMY!" His throat hurt and his nose ran as he yelled. "I HATE YOU! I WANT MY MOMMY! I WANT MY MOMMY!" He curled up into a ball and _pushed_ with his thoughts. The windows rattled. The screen door on the front of the house slammed. 

"No, Cecil," warned Simon.

"Must be a storm," said the Man, nervously.

"MOOOOOMMMMYYYYYY!" shrieked Cecil.

There were a series of loud thumps on the roof. Then the little blue bedroom went cold, cold enough that everyone's breath made cute little clouds. The shadows in the corner resolved into a ragged figure. The figure stepped closer.

"Mama!" shouted Cecil, breaking away from the Man and the Lady, who were staring, wide-eyed. Mama smiled down at him and put her hand on his head. 

"Delicate Violet Dreamer," she murmured, stroking his hair. 

"Can we go home now, Mama? I don't like it here any more."

"Return." She raised her hand to Simon. "Reluctant Valor, Hesitant Guardian?"

"No. No. I'm staying here."

Cecil was sad, but he tried to be brave. "Okay, Simon. I'll miss you." He took Mama's hand. 

"Cecil, don't be an idiot. Stay here! Yeah, they're freaks, but there's food and stuff!" 

"Oh, _we're_ the freaks?" the Lady said. She sounded scared but kinda mad, too. 

Simon ignored her. "I mean, jeez, Dummy, what are you gonna do?"

"I'll be okay, Simon. I can take care of Mama. I'm a big boy now." He waved. "Bye bye. You were a good brother."

Simon sighed loudly. "Oh, fuck it." He jumped down from the bed, tucked the comic book into his back pocket, and went over to his family. He took Cecil's hand. "Let's get outta here before I change my mind."

Mama looked at the Lady and the Man. "A curse on you for uprooting the sprouts from my garden. Leave this place forever." She pointed a long finger at the corner. Green fire started to climb the walls. The Man and Lady yelled and jumped to put it out. Mama put her hands over Cecil's and Simon's eyes.

When she took her hands away, they were home. 

Cecil gave a little shout and ran up the stairs to his room. His wonderful nest was there, just where he'd left it. He climbed inside, incandescent with happiness. Everything was back to normal.

Now, if only he could get that puppy...


	4. Promises and Compromises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josie tries to help the boys again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set a few weeks after the previous chapter.

Josie looked at the dense wall of flame and thorns and sighed. She hadn't signed up for this.

Only (how long?) ago, she'd been a bad girl. Bad, bad, bad, and hanging out at the gas station in Barstow, looking for trouble. That whore Sharon had been there, and she'd been planning on taking her out with a well-placed rat-tail comb to the eyes. 

And then _he'd_ shown up.

Jacinto. Gorgeous, brown, wrapped in leather, hugging the back of a thrumming Harley with his muscular thighs. He'd gestured to her.

How could she say no?

She'd hopped on the back of his bike and sped off into the desert and they drove for (how many?) days? It was a blur. And then the bike had broken down in this weird little town. And everybody there acted like they'd been expecting them.

No, expecting _her_. They'd embraced both of them, her and Jacinto, but only she had a special role to play. She hadn't wanted to at first, but as the weeks, then the months, then the years passed, she became less Josie, Jack's Old Lady and more Old Woman Josie. He'd passed on a few years ago, and the transformation was complete.

Night Vale needed its Old Woman. It needed someone to bake pies, and to kiss scraped knees, and to put her cute little button nose into everyone else's business. And that was exactly why she found herself at the old Palmer place, wondering if anyone was even still alive inside. 

She couldn't believe she'd been so incredibly foolish. She supposed that she'd hoped that Cassie would have understood that she was just trying to do what was best for the boys, or barring that, that maybe she wouldn't even notice that they were gone. But she had noticed, and she obviously hadn't felt that removing them from their house had been a good thing, because she'd gone and snatched them back, then barricaded all of them in that awful house. No one had gone in or out in weeks.

For 18 long days she and Norman from the SSP had been waiting outside the house. Waiting for what, she wasn't sure. Waiting to take the boys again? It wasn't like anyone in town was exactly lining up to take them, not after what had happened to the Cuthberts. Cowards. They'd be fine. Their new shapes were quite interesting. They'd get along very well in the zoo. She'd take the boys in, herself, but she didn't have the room for two of them... Oh, who was she trying to kid? She was a big coward, too.

Well, she might be a coward, but no one could say that she didn't clean up her own messes, and this mess had gone on quite long enough. She appropriated the megaphone from Norman's belt and spoke up toward the darkened windows.

"Cassie, let me come through. I need to talk to you. You can kill me once I get in, if you want."

Norman stiffened and began to speak in a frightening, raspy voice. "The poisoned arrow can kill from afar."

"Cassandra, is that you?"

"The name of the ground from which the sprouts reach the sun."

"Get out of Norman and let me come in the house and talk to you face-to-face."

There was a beat of silence, then Norman slumped to the ground and a break appeared in the burning thorns.

"Thank you," Josie called up to the house, then screwed up her courage and stepped through the opening. It closed up behind her, of course. She shook her head and picked her way up the debris-strewn path and onto the front porch, then opened the door and stepped into a large, dark, mostly-empty foyer.

In the middle of the foyer, in a shaft of sunlight pouring in through a hole in the wall, stood a small boy. 

"Cecil," Josie said, eyes prickling with relieved tears that at least one of the children was still alive. She stepped toward him to lift him up with a hug, but he looked at her with an expression on his tiny face that stopped her in her tracks.

"Go away, Josie." Josie had at first thought that he was perhaps being possessed by his mother, just as she'd possessed Norman, but the child spoke in his own voice. "We don't like you any more."

Josie caught a flickering movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see what it was, but only caught sight of her own terrified reflection in the mirror. Her mouth went dry. She turned back to Cecil, who was still staring at her with cold ire.

"Gee, that's too bad," she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. "Because I like you. I brought you some animal crackers. Let's see if we can find the jackalope." She held the brightly-colored box out, but Cecil didn't take it.

"We don't like you." He repeated. "We hate you. You tried to hurt us."

"No, no, Cecil, I wasn't --" The flickering had intensified. Was it only fear that was making it hard to breathe? It had to just be fear, right? It wasn't really a hot, clawed hand squeezing her lungs, was it? Black dots began to crowd her central vision.

"I want you to go away forever. You're bad and smelly. You'll take me and Simon away again, and Mommy will be very sad." His voice began to quiver on that last note. He was a terrified little manticore cub, flashing tiny fangs to scare off the big bad poacher trying to take him away from his wounded mother. What he didn't understand is that his mother still had enough venom in her to kill the whole town, starting with Josie. But if she died, who would be around to protect him and his brother when Cassandra succumbed to the wounds in her soul, or worse, turned her poison on them?

And in that moment, she knew what she had to do, the only way to end this mess. She fought back against the blazing in her chest and was rewarded with just enough air to speak.

"No, I won't," she gasped, and the horrible pressure seemed to ease just a bit. She drew in another breath. "I won't make you leave, I promise. You can stay with -- with your mommy."

Cecil blinked, and his expression softened. "For real?"

"Yeah... yeah, for real." All at once, the flickering stopped and the burning pain that had seized her lifted. Cecil cocked his head to one side, then stepped over to her and patted her hand, smiling.

"Mommy says she's sorry, and thank you."

Josie swiveled her head and saw a gaunt figure disappear into the darkness. "You're welcome," she called after the wraith, just grateful for the moment to be able to breathe. Cecil's little hand tightened around her fingers. 

"C'mon, Josie, let's go play! I'm so bored of playing with Simon. He just likes to play punching games."

They started up the stairs when Josie saw another, slightly larger boy, standing in the shadows off to the side. He had a look of despair on his face that would have been heartbreaking on an adult. On a child, it was soul-crushing.

"Just give me a second, Cecil. I'll meet you up in your room, okay?"

"Okay, Josie." He looked at her shyly. "Can I still have those cookies? I'm sorry I said you were bad and smelly. You smell nice."

"Here." She handed him the box. "Now go on." She watched as he scampered up the stairs, clutching the animal crackers, then turned to the other boy.

"Simon, I --"

"Why'd you do it?" His voice was scared and sad and very, very old.

"I don't feel like I had a choice."

"Why'd you do it?" He repeated, louder this time. "You're leaving us here with her! It's -- it's horrible!" 

"Simon, I'm so sorry. I know things are sometimes pretty bad around here, but I promise, I'm not turning my back on you guys. I promise with all my heart that I'll make sure the two of you are safe as long as I'm alive. Now, do you want to come upstairs with me? I bet Cecil will share the cookies with you." She put her hand on his shoulder.

Simon looked at her for a moment, then slapped her hand away. "Go piss up a rope!" he yelled, then turned and ran across the foyer and out the front door. Josie made to go after him, then stopped. She sank down to sit on the stairs, put her head in her hands, and cried.


	5. You're My Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil and the Harlans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first submission for Earl Harlan Week, which you can learn all about at earlharlanweek.tumblr.com. I know it's a day early (Earl-y??!?!?) but I wanted to get this up before I went to work.

**April, 1987**

Ernestine Harlan hummed and darned one of her husband's socks as her two youngest children played at her feet. She looked up as the screen door slammed. Her three oldest, Earl, Maybelle, and Clem, and her stray, Cecil, ran through the door, backpacks bouncing.

"Hi, kids," she said, grinning and holding open her arms. "Come here and give Momma a hug." The four children clustered around her. Maybelle, her little firecracker, shoved Cecil out of the way.

"She didn't mean _you_ ," she sneered. "She's not your Momma."

Ernestine fixed her with a stern look. "Maybelle? Remember what we talked about?"

Maybelle looked down at her feet, sheepish. "Yes, Momma."

"Good girl. Now get over here, the **four** of you, and give Momma a hug." They did as they were told, and she gave them a big squeeze. As soon as she let go, three of the four were off like the wind. Only Cecil stayed behind. 

"Go on, Cecil. You go and play with Earl."

"I like it here with you, Miz Harlan." He grabbed her hand and leaned on her arm.

Cecil was eight, the same age as her Earl, but he looked younger. He was towheaded and olive-skinned and fragile, with huge, thick glasses and oddly-formal and old-fashioned clothes at least two sizes too large for him. He might as well have been a different species from her own robust gaggle of redheads, with their freckled noses and skinned knees.

"How about you help me out by watching Otis and Lurleen while I get you kids a snack? That'd be a big favor to me. Then, after you all eat something, you and Earl go have fun. He found some sort of new bug in the backyard that he's been _dying_ to show you."

"Okay!" He hugged her again, then plopped down on the rug and began to play with the toddlers. Ernestine ruffled his hair. 

"You're a good boy, Cecil Palmer." The beaming smile he flashed at her was so proud and grateful it made her heart hurt. She levered herself off of her Barcalounger and went into the kitchen.

****  
Cecil grabbed one of the blocks that was sitting on the rug and placed it on the squat tower he'd been building to the delight of Earl's baby brother and sister. Lurleen squealed with delight and clapped her hands. Cecil cooed back. This was fun!

"You know those are _baby toys_ , don't you, Sissy Cecil?"

Cecil felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He liked everyone in Earl's family with the exception of one person: Maybelle. He hated to admit it, but she scared him. She was younger than him by a year, and was a girl to boot, but she was tough and mean.

"Well, I **know** that, but maybe you noticed that I'm playing with _babies_ , here, Mabel."

She kicked him in the back. "It's Maybelle and you know it. Why don't you just go home, anyway. No one here likes you."

"Earl likes me. Your mom likes me."

She crouched down to look him in the eye. "You wanna hear a secret, Sissy? They don't like you. Everybody just feels sorry for you."

Cecil felt tears begin to sting his eyes, and his heart started to beat fast. "That's not true! You take it back!"

"It _is_ true. My Momma told us that we all have to be nice to you 'cause your Momma's sick."

"M-mom's sick?"

"Yeah, she's sick in the head!" Maybelle crossed her eyes and waggled her fingers around her ears. "She's a loony, and you're weird and you look funny and you're a loony too! And your house is weird and gross and smelly and you don't even have any toys or food or soap, probably, and that's why you smell!"

"I don't!" Cecil shouted indignantly. He'd taken a bath the evening before. Sure, it had been cold, and he'd had to use dish soap, but he was _clean_.

"Nobody loves you!"

"That's not true!"

"Sissy Cecil, looney tunes, Sissy Cecil, looney tunes," Maybelle started dancing around and singing. Cecil jumped to his feet just as Earl came into the room.

"Cecil, don't listen to her, she's..."

Cecil's head felt hot and there was a weird buzzing in his ears and at the moment all he wanted to do was escape. He shoved past Earl.

"SorryEarlIgottagohomerightnow," he mumbled as he ran out the door.

****  
Earl gestured angrily at his sister. "Maybelle Temperance Harlan, have you taken leave of your senses?"

Maybelle stopped short and gaped at Earl. "Uh, Earl, I..."

"Never mind, I gotta go get Cecil." He ran past her and out the front door.

He went out onto the porch and looked around. Cecil was nowhere to be found, but he was probably on the way back to his house. Earl jumped on his bicycle and began to pedal furiously in that direction. Soon, a dejected little figure came into view. He coasted up beside him and hopped off his bike, then began to walk alongside his friend. Cecil ignored him.

"Cecil, Cecil stop walking!"

Cecil shook his head. "Go back home, Earl."

"Don't listen to anything Maybelle says! She's as mean as a snake."

"She's right."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"She's right. No one loves me."

"No, no, Cecil, that's not true." He grabbed his shoulder. "Your mom loves you."

"My mom doesn't know who I am half the time."

"She sat in the first row at the history pageant!"

"I don't think that was on purpose. I think she just... ended up there. She just ends up places. Last time, we had to go get her at the bowling alley. She got stuck in the trophy case and Mr. Williams couldn't get her out."

"Wow, that's... uh... Well, your brother loves you."

"Simon punches me every day. Every. Day. Yesterday he sat on me and farted on my head and called me a nerd. Does that sound like he loves me?"

"Old Woman Josie --"

"No. She loves everybody. That's her job. See, no one. I told you."

"That's not true. I love you, Cecil."

"No, you feel sorry for me. That's what Maybelle said."

"No, I don't. I think you're cool! Really, you're the coolest person I know!"

"Really?" He looked at Earl for the first time since he'd left the house.

"Really. You're smart, and you're funny, and you know a lot about cowboys and the desert and the radio station... And when nobody else would talk to me 'cause I was new, you wanted to be my friend. Oh, and you're really good at spitting."

Cecil blushed. "Yeah, I guess I'm pretty good at that."

"You're the best! So yeah, you're pretty much the coolest guy I know... And I do love you. You're my best friend."

"You're my best friend, too, Early. Thank you." He gave him an awkward hug. 

Earl felt so happy, he thought his head might pop off. "Ahhh, it's nothin'. So hey, wanna come back to my house?"

"Wellll...."

"C'mon. I think Momma made Flaky-O squares with extra marshmallows. And after we have our snack, we can go blow up Maybelle's GI Freds with firecrackers!"

"Oh, okay..." Cecil grinned.

Earl got back on his bike. "Hooray! Hop up behind me, I'll give you a ride."

"All right!" Cecil climbed onto the bike and wrapped his arms around Earl, and then two of them wobbled off down the street. Cecil grimaced. He didn't like going fast. He closed his eyes and buried his face between Earl's shoulder blades. "My mom really _is_ weird, though."

"Are you kidding me? She's cool! She's like, the coolest mom. She doesn't make you go to bed, and she gets into adventures! I wish my mom was cool. She just stays at home and cooks and cleans and boring stuff."

"Wow. I never thought of it like that. Thanks, Early."

"You're welcome. So, who do you want to blow up first? 'Knife Fightin' Fred' or 'Amphibious Assualt Fred'?"

"Ooh, what about 'Ballistic Florist Fred'? That one gives me nightmares."

"Great choice, Best Buddy, great choice. Hey, can you teach me to spit as good as you do?"

"Well, I dunno, it might be like a natural talent or something. But I'll try."

"Thanks, Cee Cee." Earl smiled and patted Cecil's hand. They were gonna be best friends _forever_.


End file.
